


And I'm Having Some Trouble Just Breathing

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Bellamy Blake, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, References to Abuse, References to Torture, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-12
Packaged: 2018-06-08 02:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6834517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nathan Miller is the first person Bellamy Blake kisses on Earth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And I'm Having Some Trouble Just Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a giveaway fic for [the-ships-to-rule-them-all](http://the-ships-to-rule-them-all.tumblr.com), who wanted "Miller and Bellamy friendship focused with Bi!Bellamy and Briller and Bellarke feelings in canonverse," all of which this is, except there really isn't very much Briller, because that's not my ship. So it's really just a background thing.
> 
> I think this is probably canon compliant through 314, because Miller doesn't show up until Contents Under Pressure, so I can say he was doing whatever I want until then. If it's not canon compliant, don't tell me, because I don't care. It'll be jossed in no time anyway.

Nathan Miller is the first person Bellamy Blake kisses on Earth.

He doesn't mean to do it. Or, rather, he does, but he doesn't mean it how Miller takes it, doesn't do it as part of some calculated plot about creating an image. The two of them get to talking naturally, once the rain has let up and the camp has mellowed out a little. Bellamy's still wired, free in a way he never has been, in control in a way he never has been. The awareness of Octavia being away nags at him, the knowledge that she could be anywhere, when he just got her back, but there's something exhilarating about that too. Both of them have the whole world.

That's why he kisses Miller. Because everything feels possible.

It's a good kiss, for a few seconds, Miller warm and responsive under him, and when his hands come up to Bellamy's chest, Bellamy assumes he's going to pull him closer.

Instead, he pushes him back, not hard, but firm. "I can't."

Bellamy smirks. "Whatever the hell we want, right?" It's as foreign a concept to him as rain and trees; he can't remember a time where he let himself really want anything, except for Octavia to be safe. But he can try to start.

"Yeah," says Miller, matching his expression. "And I don't want that."

"Ouch," he says, but he's still smiling. 

"You know the drill. It's not you, it's me."

"Yeah, I get that all the time. I'm a lot to handle."

"I bet." He touches his wristband; it's weird to notice he hasn't taken it off, and even weirder to not mind. Miller's not self-righteous about it like the prince and the princess, not showing it off. He just hasn't let anyone take it from him, and Bellamy's pretty sure he never will. "I've got a boyfriend," he says.

"Yeah? That was fast."

"On the Ark, dumbass."

"It's not cheating if you're on a different planet."

"Whatever the hell I want, right? I want him."

Bellamy has to smile. "Yeah, okay."

"But if you're looking for someone to fuck to drive home the anarchy thing, I think Madeline's checking you out. Assuming you're into that."

He doesn't know Madeline, but he follows Miller's line of sight, sees a girl who must be closing in on eighteen.

He hasn't had a lot of sex. His life is divided into three parts: Before Octavia, Octavia, and After Octavia, and until his sister was locked up, he'd never managed more than some kissing and teenaged fumbling. After, he'd fucked a few people, but after he always felt guilty, grimy, and he'd never really enjoyed it. He had trouble enjoying much of anything, After Octavia.

It's a new start, though. And it wouldn't be a bad reputation to have.

"I'm into that," he says. "Later, Miller."

Miller shakes his head, but it's amusement. Maybe even fondness. _Friendship_ , he thinks. It's as foreign a concept as everything else. "Later, Blake."

The next day, when Murphy tells Miller he can't talk to them them until he loses the wristband, Miller just raises his eyebrows. 

"Yeah, this is Miller," Bellamy says. "For those of you who don't know. He's cool."

"My dad's a guard," Miller admits, later, just to Bellamy. "So--he might know about this. It's not like we'd all die right away, right? That's not how radiation works."

"So you wanna pretend to die slowly?"

"Sure. Sounds fun." He touches his wrist. "I'm all he's got."

It's stupid, making exceptions. Then again, the whole thing is stupid, and it's going to blow up in his face. So he can't. He knows what Miller is saying too well. 

"No one alive but you," he says. "Sounds like a shitty planet. Who'd want to come down to that?"

Miller snorts. "Yeah, fuck that. I'd rather die in space."

*

They do hook up, just once. It's a week and a half after Mount Weather, and Bellamy feels like a ghost wrapped up in skin, like something no one has noticed is empty. He doesn't know how he feels most of the time, honestly. Kane made an alliance with the Grounders, or--fuck, it's not even an _alliance_ , it's rolling over and taking what they're given. It's still the Grounders acting like his people should be kissing their asses, like they're being so benevolent, letting them stay there, like Lexa didn't fuck them over, like she didn't leave them with no choice but to--

He's leaning against the wall of the new settlement, eyes closed, just trying to breathe, when someone sits down next to him.

"I don't want company," he says, without opening his eyes.

"I do," says Miller.

"Good for you." He cracks his eye. "You okay?"

" _You're_ asking _me_? Seriously?"

He considers trying to lie, but finally just says, "Why do you think I didn't want company?"

"You never want company." He huffs, shaking his head. "Fuck, you're such a dick. I'm trying to _help_." 

And then he leans in and kisses Bellamy. It's the first time he's kissed anyone since Raven, unless he counts--well, he doesn't. Cheek kisses don't count. No one thinks they do. That's different.

It's different from kissing Raven too, and it's different from the first time he kissed Miller. Miller is firm and dominant, taking control of the kiss so smoothly that Bellamy has no trouble losing himself in it, letting Miller press into him, letting Miller do all the work. It feels so _good_ for a minute, to not think about anything except the feel of Miller's tongue against his, the warmth of another person, the--

He takes a shuddering breath. "Did you--" He has to lick his lips to make his voice work. "Did you give up on him?"

"It's different," Miller says. He's watching Bellamy, but it's not hungry at all. He wishes it was. There's something in his eyes that has nothing to do with lust, and he can't even think about it. Doesn't want to, honestly. "It's not like--"

"I don't care," he lies, and Miller rolls his eyes. "You don't have to explain." He tries on a smirk, but he's sure it doesn't fit right. "I knew you couldn't resist me."

Miller leans back against the wall. "If I'd fucked some guy I didn't even know the first night we were here, I don't know what I would have told him. Like--fuck, that's shitty. But--I could tell him what this is."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

He swallows. He's willing to ask, if Miller's going to make him. "So, what is it?"

"We need this," he says. "It's--friendship."

Bellamy almost chokes on his laugh. "This is friendship now?"

"Yeah. He'd get it."

It felt good. Warm and safe and--someone putting him first. Someone thinking of him. Taking care of him. Maybe Miller's right; maybe friendship is the word for this. It's not like he has a lot to compare it to, when you get down to it.

"You sure?" he asks.

"Yeah," says Miller. He stands and offers his hand. "It was my idea. And it beats sitting in the fucking wet grass like an idiot, yeah?"

His smirk feels more natural this time. "I'll be the judge of that."

It's not life-changing. It doesn't magically fix all his problems. It doesn't put him together again. But lying in the dark with Miller's arm around him, close and solid, he feels like he can breathe.

It's never going to happen again. But he's glad it happened once.

*

"I got outvoted."

Bellamy startles; Miller is offering him a piece of torn cloth, and he just holds up his cuffed hands. His whole body hurts, but it's kind of nice. It gives him something to concentrate on without having to think.

"Sucks to be you," says Bellamy, and Miller snorts. That helps too.

"Yeah, clearly, I'm the one in bad shape here." He sits down, a little awkward. "You want me to clean you up, or you want more scars?"

"Surprise me." And then, because he's got his priorities, "I'd rather have water than anything."

"Shit, yeah." He fumbles, pulls out a canteen, helps Bellamy drink. "Fuck. How long's it been since you ate?"

"I don't know. I was unconscious a lot of the time."

"I told them we could trust you. I told your sister--when she went to meet you. I said she could trust you."

"I wouldn't trust me either."

"Yeah, well. You have shitty taste in guys. Mine's way better."

He tries to laugh, but it turns into a cough. "You always know just what to say." 

"Yeah." He licks his lips. "She shouldn't have done that."

There's no response he knows to that, because part of him will always feel like anything he can do for his sister, he has to do it. Anything he can give her, he'll give. His pain, his well-being, his life, it's hers. And that was what she asked for.

But there's a part of him that knows Miller's right, too. That she shouldn't have. Even if his mouth can't form the words.

"More water," he says instead, and Miller obliges him. They sit in silence for a while, trading the canteen between them, until Bellamy says, "I didn't really think he'd do it. Kill Lincoln. Or Kane. Not--none of _ours_."

"Yeah," says Miller. "I know." He wets his lips, leans forward to rest his arms on his knees. "There was this old idea. In the twentieth century. Six degrees of separation."

"Okay."

"It was about how--the world was getting more populated, but it was getting smaller too. And the theory was every person on Earth was only six degrees of separation from everyone else. Like, you know a guy, and he knows a guy, and with all those connections, you'll never be more than six people away from anyone else."

"And?"

"And you should fucking remember that."

It startles another laugh out of him. "What?"

"We're not that far from anyone down here." He wets his lips. "Anyone gets hurt, it's going to hurt someone you know. It's not just us anymore."

Something lodges in his throat, and he turns his head away when Miller offers the water again. It's not like he thought he was doing the right thing, not exactly. He's never thought he was doing the right thing. A lot of the time, it felt like the only thing. 

It wasn't until Clarke, honestly, that he felt like he was making choices, and the thought jars him. He's been doing so fucking _well_ , not thinking about her. Because Lexa's dead, and with Lexa is dead and Clarke still in Polis, Clarke might be--

He's wanted Lexa dead, more than once, but if Clarke's alive, she's hurting. He doesn't know _why_ , is never going to get that, but--

"Fuck," he says. 

"Yeah." He wets his lips. "They'll be back soon. You need anything else?"

"I don't know where to start."

Miller pats his knee. "I'm still voting for you. I'll keep doing what I can."

"Thanks."

*

Things would go back to normal, if that was possible. If normal existed. Bellamy's life has new divisions now: the Ark, Earth, Earth after Clarke, and now this, whatever this is going to be.

They move, which would have been a good idea to do even earlier. They go inland and south, camp in a wide plains for a few days while scouts go out to make sure they aren't using anyone else's territory. There's a village a day's ride away who have never hear of Commanders or sky people, and they give Bryan food to bring home with him.

"I don't even know what to do with this," he tells Clarke, looking at the bundle of smoked meat and dried berries.

"You open your mouth and--"

"Cute," he says. "Maybe it's poison."

"They pulled it out of their stores," Bryan says. "I saw them. There were some kids eating berries by the handful."

"Not everyone in the world wants to kill us," Clarke says.

"Prove it," he mutters, and his heart actually stops when she pops a berry in her mouth.

He takes one too, just in case it does kill her.

But it doesn't, and so they settle in. It's strange, to be living in wooden houses instead of stone, to be away from the ruins of the Ark and old civilizations.

It doesn't feel normal, but it feels fresh. A new era in his life, and he doesn't know what to call it yet. Earth with Clarke and after Octavia, if it wasn't such a mouthful.

They've got half the cabins built when Miller asks, "So, you guys don't know how to talk about how you want to share a place, so you're just going to live in tents forever?"

Clarke is talking to her mother and Raven, checking plans for a communications array, to pick up any signals they might find. He doesn't mean to watch her, but he still doesn't know how to let her out of his sight. She's not leaving again, he knows she's not. But his eye always finds her.

"Maybe I like tents."

"No one likes tents." He pauses, and when Bellamy glances over, he's finding Bryan. "I ever tell you how we got together?"

Bellamy huffs. "That's not really something we've ever prioritized, no." But he is a little curious. "I don't even know how you met. He's from Farm Station."

"Just because you never talked to anyone on the Ark doesn't mean no one did." He smiles a little. "Clarke was actually there."

He knew the two of them knew each other a little, back on the Ark, but it always makes him lurch. Sometimes, he feels cheated, thinking of the time he could have known them and didn't.

"She was, you know. Every few months, she'd go to a party, just to prove she knew how to have fun."

He has to smile. "Yeah, that sounds like her."

"She and Wells were, like, unbeatable at drinking games. They were taking all comers. I was just watching, it was funny, seeing the prince and princess talking shit and kicking ass. And Bryan comes over and nudges me, asks if I want to give it a shot. He and Wells were friends."

"Huh."

"He was cute, so I said yes. But I didn't--I don't know. I thought he was just being friendly. Not flirting. Wells actually told me to get my act together."

"So how come you went with me instead of him, when we came down?"

He shrugs. "Because I thought you were right. Same reason I went with Kane even though you and Bryan are hotter."

"I knew I was doing politics wrong. I don't just always follow the hottest person?"

Miller shrugs. "Well, _you_ might," he says, pointed, and Bellamy swallows and tries not to look at Clarke.

"So, was there a point to that story? Or did you just want me to know how cute you and your boyfriend are?"

"This is me, being Wells. I don't know what happened to her, okay? Hell, I was here the whole time, and I don't think I know what happened to you half the time. But that girl loves you."

"I know," he says, but it's true in the way he used to know about Earth Skills on the Ark. It feels like theory, like something purely academic. Clarke loves him, but she doesn't _love_ him. And that's fine. He doesn't need that from her. He just needs her by his side, in his sight.

As long as she stays, he'll be fine.

"That's not how we're going to be," he adds. "It's just--there's too much, you know?"

"Nope," Miller says, cheerful. "No idea. You're a dumbass. If you asked her to marry you _today_ , she'd say yes. But you should at least tell her you want to share a cabin, because everyone assumes you're going to. No one wants to make two more for just you guys."

"I can tell her that," he says. "I was going to anyway."

"At least you're not totally hopeless."

His smile is bitter. "No. Still not totally."

Clarke comes over after Miller leaves, stands close enough her shoulder is brushing his. "Everything okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I thought Miller might have an issue."

"He thinks we should start working on our cabin."

"Yeah, probably," she says, without blinking. "I've got plans for it drawn up."

"Yeah?"

"I was thinking three rooms. Common room, bedroom, guest room."

His voice catches, but it comes out strong when he asks, "One bedroom?"

Heat creeps up Clarke's neck, but her own tone is as even as his. "I have nightmares," she says. "I want to be able to see you when I wake up."

Most of his nightmares aren't even about her these days. Some of them are, but--not most. But he can't think of any dream that wouldn't be at least a little better, if he could look over and know she was nearby.

"Yeah," he agrees. "One bedroom's good."

It is, too. Once the cabin is done, he sleeps easier, and it's not just because the bed is more comfortable. It's not even just because he can see her, when he wakes up in a cold sweat. It's easier to talk to her in the dark, and she seems to feel the same. They tell each other the things that they knew, but didn't know; he talks about Gina, she talks about Lexa. He tells her what Echo did. She tells him about the week she spent imprisoned in Polis, spitting mad, trying to escape.

"So, what changed?" he asks.

"I knew--I couldn't leave again." She sighs. "I knew that you guys were in trouble, and I couldn't go back, but I couldn't just--I didn't know what I could do."

"You picked the wrong thing," he says, and it makes her laugh.

"I thought about you a lot. I thought about--heroic deeds."

"Heroic deeds?"

"Those stories you used to tell, before the Ark came down. For the younger kids." She smiles. "I bet you didn't know I was paying attention."

"No, I didn't."

"You're good at stories. You and Miller. I liked listening to you."

"Maybe we should start again."

"You should."

"Heroic deeds?" he prompts.

It's dark, but he can hear her roll over in her bed, and when he turns, she's on her side, watching him. "Something--something _good_. Something I could give you, to make up for leaving. The Nemean lion. Medusa's head. Peace. Like--I left, but I brought you this."

He smiles a little, and they lapse into silence. Once he thinks she might be asleep, he lets himself say, "All I needed was you."

"Yeah," she says. "It turns out you were all I needed too."

*

A delegation from the Azgeda comes after their first winter. Roan himself isn't with them, but they bring greetings and gifts.

"Tell him we don't want him here," Bellamy tells the leader, Maron.

"Bellamy," says Clarke, warning, but there's a smile playing around her lips.

"We don't."

"Don't worry," Maron says, apparently not offended. "He doesn't want to be here either." He glances around. "Too warm for our blood. But it's nice, if you like this kind of thing."

"I'm never going north," Bellamy says, and Clarke grins.

"No, you're not."

It's a little strange, having the Azgeda around. The strangest part is that Bellamy believes Roan really sent them just to check up, that he doesn't think there's some sinister ulterior motive to the visit. He's pretty sure the Azgeda are doing as well as can be expected, in the wake of ALIE, and that they like their own territory.

He likes his territory too.

What's weird is that Clarke _doesn't_ like the delegates. Or, at least, she doesn't like Maron. Any time she sees Bellamy talking to the man, she'll make sure to call one of them away, and when the two of them stay up speaking, Clarke refuses to go to sleep before they do.

"You're the one who _likes_ Roan," he mutters, but it's kind of funny, too.

Clarke scowls. "I don't like him, I just don't think--"

"Do you want me to kill his diplomats? Just say the word. I'll kill his diplomats."

That gets her to crack a smile. "You would not."

"No, I wouldn't. But I'd kick them out."

He can't read the look she gives him, but whatever he's doing with his own face must satisfy her, because hers breaks into a smile quickly enough. "You don't have to," she says. "Just--never mind."

Miller explains the next night.

"That Ice Nation guy wants to fuck you."

Bellamy chokes on his drink. The moonshine's tasting pretty good, these days, but it still burns his throat when he coughs. Miller just thumps him on the back. 

"What?" he asks, when he's recovered.

"That Maron guy. That's why Clarke keeps trying to keep you guys from being alone. You guys are all idiots." He pauses. "Except Maron. I don't really blame him."

"Yeah, you wanted to fuck me too."

"Desperately," he agrees, deadpan. "You interested?"

Now that he thinks about it, sex has honestly barely crossed his mind, since Gina died. He loves Clarke, loves Clarke in a way that's overwhelming and almost choking, but he doesn't think about having sex with her. He would, he wants her, but--he doesn't let himself think of what it would be like. He jerks off when he bathes, another part of his routine, like washing his hair and brushing his teeth. It's more about biology than pleasure.

Miller's still watching him, and he rubs his face. "Fuck, I don't know." He slants a look at Miller. "You sure?"

"How did you get laid so much when we got down here?"

"You told me who wanted to fuck me then too."

"Clarke," he says, instantly. "Clarke wants to fuck you. Get on that."

She's talking to one of the Azgeda herself, a woman named Aleni, but when Bellamy catches her eye, she smiles, rolls her eyes, and he feels something uncoil in his chest. He smiles back.

"Thanks for the update," he says. "Did you ever tell Bryan? About us?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"And what?" He shrugs. "Like I said, he got it. He was flirting with someone too. About a month before we found them."

"What happened?"

"He died. Not killed, just got sick and didn't get better. Before anything could happen."

"Were you jealous?"

Miller shrugs. "Kind of. Not, like--I don't blame him. I just wish I'd been there. I wish we hadn't--"

"Yeah."

"So you should stop wasting time."

"It's not a waste," he says, and that much is true. "Trust me, if we're going to get there, we will." He bumps Miller's shoulder. "It's kind of creepy, though. You're way too invested."

"Nah, everyone's invested. I'm just the only one who isn't scared of you."

In all honesty, he doesn't buy Miller's explanation, about Maron wanting him, but when Clarke stops following them two days later, it does sting a bit. And when Maron asks if he'd like to take a walk that night, she's nowhere to be found.

He says yes because he doesn't know what else to say. The man is handsome enough, dark-skinned and light-eyed, a few years older than Bellamy. He isn't opposed, except that he still feels like he's wrapped up in gauze, his whole body, his whole self. He doesn't know how to be close to anyone.

Or, not to most people.

"What is between the two of you?" Maron asks. "You and Wanheda."

"Clarke," he says. "Her name's Clarke."

"My apologies."

"I'm as much a Wanheda as she is. Maybe more." He swallows, tries to figure out how to answer the question. "She's--she's my partner," he finally says.

Maron's laugh is soft and rough, and part of him wishes he could do this. That he could just lean up and kiss the man, let it happen, like he would have when he first came to Earth.

_Whatever the hell we want_ , he thinks, but it's Miller he remembers. This isn't what he wants either.

"I don't know why I bothered trying," Maron says. "The King asked us to tell him if you two had married yet. When you hadn't, I thought perhaps--"

"Yeah," he says, but it's nothing he can explain, not to someone like Maron. "It's pretty hopeless."

Clarke is still awake when he gets back, sketching in her bed, and she startles at the sight of him.

"You're here," she says, in a tone he can't quite read.

He tugs off his shirt and kicks off his jeans, finds a book and settles on top of his own covers. "I live here."

"I saw you leave with Maron."

"He wanted to talk."

"He wanted to do more than talk."

"Yeah, well. I didn't." He glances at her. "I can't believe you abandoned me."

She bites her lip. "Raven said you deserved to have some fun."

"Nice of her. She and Miller should start a club."

"I'd join." She's quiet, but then she says, soft but firm, "You deserve to be happy, Bellamy. You deserve everything."

He swallows hard, and lets himself wonder, for the first time, what she'd do if he kissed her. Lets himself imagine her arms winding around him, the way she'd pull him close. She'd smile against his mouth.

He'd make her happy.

"I'm good," he says, and it feels almost true.

*

Three days after the Azgeda leave, he has a nightmare, a bad one, where he's chained in Mount Weather, forced to watch as they drain everyone he loves and throw away the bodies. They start with his mother, and then Gina, then Raven, Monty, Miller. He shouts his voice hoarse for Octavia and wakes himself up, miraculously, right as they strap down Clarke. He stares at the ceiling for a long minute, chest heaving, before he manages to turn.

She's there, but it's not enough, just seeing her; he drags himself out of bed and falls in next to her, wrapping her up in his arms. She's so warm and soft, so real.

"Hi," she murmurs, bleary. She turns into him, curling against him as naturally as if she's done it a thousand times. "Wake me up first next time, I nearly punched you."

"Sorry." He lets himself bury his nose in her hair; it feels like she's been a different person, every time he's held her, but when he breathes her in, all he can smell is _Clarke_. Always Clarke. 

"It's okay. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"Okay." Her hand slides up his back, and her lips press against his collarbone. "Can I do anything else?"

"Don't kick me out of bed."

"You'd have a lot more trouble if you tried to leave." The hand on his back tangles in his hair instead, rubbing gently. "I'm here, okay? I'm always going to be here."

"I know." He lets his lips press against her hair. "I know."

"I belong with you," she says, and he just pulls her closer.

He doesn't know when he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, too much light is streaming in the window, and she's still in his arms.

"What time is it?" he asks. She's awake, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his bare chest, exploring the map of scars there.

"I don't know. After breakfast."

"You could have woken me up."

She smirks at him, pushes him onto his back and crowds on top of him. His heart rate spikes as her hair falls over his face and her nose brushes his. "I thought you'd leave."

"You have a lot of faith in my self control," he manages, and when he threads his hand in her hair, she leans in to kiss him. Her mouth is a little stale, tastes like sleep, but the first swipe of her tongue has him groaning, and that's it. For the first time in months, his entire body feels awake, on fire, _alive_ , and he rolls her over, pushes her down, and kisses her as if he's starving, as if he's _dying_. 

And she's kissing him back just as hard.

"I love you," he tells her neck. "I love you, I love you."

"I know," she says. Her nails scrape his back, and she tugs him up so she can grin at him; his own grin back is involuntary. He couldn't stop it if he wanted to. "I love you too."

It's almost noon before they make it out of their cabin, and Clarke still tries to argue they just shouldn't bother.

"We could be sick."

"Or we could do our jobs." He presses her against the wall to kiss her again before he leaves. "Like you said, we're not going anywhere."

Her hand curls around the back of his neck, and he wonders for a second if he's really _not_ going to leave. No one would begrudge them a day off.

But she just presses her lips against her favorite spot on his neck and says. "Yeah. See you later."

Sargent Miller doesn't ask what held him up, and sends him to stand watch with his son. Miller takes one look at him and snorts.

"Good night?"

"Shitty night. Great morning, though."

Miller snorts. "That's it? After all I've done for you, that's all I get?"

"Sorry, did you want details about how hot my girlfriend is? I didn't think you were into that."

"Is she a better kisser than I am?"

"No, but you already have a boyfriend, so--"

Miller elbows him. "Yeah, I know. I just keep breaking your heart."

"Every day." He wraps his arm around Miller's shoulders, presses a sloppy kiss to his temple. "Thanks for looking out for me."

"Yeah, well. Someone has to."

"You doing okay? I never ask."

"You know I'm good." He bumps his shoulder against Bellamy's. "Happy for you."

He smiles. "Yeah. I know."

*

Gina asked him if was ever planning to get married, once. It was a couple weeks after he slept with Miller, about a week before he and Gina started going out. He and Raven had been trying to figure out who in Arkadia had the authority to perform a hypothetical marriage, if it was just Kane, or if Abby could do it too, or even Bellamy. 

The question of whether Clarke could do it had been left unasked, but it lingered between them.

"Does it even matter?" Gina asked, looking between the two of them with fond amusement. He liked her; he always liked her. He might have loved her someday, if he'd been able to get his head on straight. "How legal do you need your marriage to be?"

"Yeah, that's a good point," Raven said, turning to regard Bellamy. "I didn't see you as really caring about having a legal ceremony. Just exchange some rings and call it a day."

"We're not talking about me," he said, waving his hand vaguely. "This is academic."

"So you're not getting married?" Gina asked.

He shrugged. "Not any time soon."

"But someday."

Once Raven pointed out she was _fishing to see if you're single, dumbass_ , he asked her out, but at the time, he'd really thought about it. It was another of those things he just assumed he wouldn't have, before he got to Earth, and that he didn't think about once he got here.

"I don't know," he said, honestly. He tapped the side of his glass. "I guess if anyone wanted to."

Raven snorted, and Gina bit back on a smile, and he didn't think about it again for a long time.

And then Miller says, "You're going to be my best man, right?"

"Aren't I already?" he asks, absent. 

"Wedding," he says, and Bellamy startles to attention.

"Shit, really? When?"

"It's good news."

"Yeah, I know, just--" He grins, pulls Miller into a hug and thumps him on the back. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. Clarke's gonna do the ceremony."

"Yeah?"

"I would've asked you, but, like I said, you're gonna be my best man, right?"

"Yeah, of course." His smile is so huge it's almost painful. "That's awesome."

"I think so."

"Do you have a ceremony?"

"Clarke said she'd come up with something."

"Oh fuck, no way. I'll do it."

Miller snorts. "Don't trust your girlfriend to write a nice ceremony?"

"Not for a second."

"Glad you've got my back."

"I am your best man."

He finds Clarke sitting on their bed, tapping a pen against her jaw. He kisses her neck, settles in beside her, smiles when she leans back against his chest. 

"That for the wedding?" he asks.

"Yeah. Miller told you?"

"I'm the best man," he says, and Clarke grins. 

"I'm pretty sure there are two best men, so don't get too cocky."

"Too late. Let me see what you've got. This is really important. Miller's having the best ceremony ever."

"Yeah, I figured you'd do most of the work," she says, handing him the paper and her pen. 

"I always do."

He's half-absorbed in making notes when she asks, soft, "Do you want to get married?"

"Are you proposing or just curious?"

"Either. Both. Whatever."

He tilts her chin up to kiss her. "I want to marry you," he says.

"Good."

"But I want Miller to have a nicer wedding than we do."

She takes his free hand and threads their fingers together. "Yeah, that's fine. I don't care much about the ceremony. I just want you."

"You've got me." He leans his head on hers. "But this speech is shitty, so we're fixing that before anything else."

"Well, yeah," she says, laughing. "That's the top priority."

The weirdest thing is that it is. They're peaceful and prosperous enough that he and Clarke can just lose a few days planning a wedding; it's honestly surreal.

But the wedding is perfect, and Miller cries, and Bellamy does too, a little.

After, they have a party and everyone gets drunk, and he and Miller pass a bottle between just the two of them, watching the dancing before they join everyone else.

"So, you're next?"

"I think we're already as married as we care about being," he says, shrugging. "Maybe I'll make her a ring. But we're probably not having a ceremony or anything."

"But I'm still your best man, right?"

"Yeah, of course." He takes a long swig of moonshine, grins. "Come on. You know you're always my best man."


End file.
